Vir Cadet
by charisma.exe
Summary: After all, if, for some odd reason, this plot did not work... CLU had just lost himself a valuable soldier. However, if everything went according to plan, then he would have still lost a valuable soldier... but he would have gained something worth at least ten Dysons as well.
1. Exspectate

**Exspectate**

Wait, he told his Black Guard.

Despite the fact that Dyson's evaluation of Argon City was turning out to be uneventful, despite the fact that many thought pinpointing the "Renegade" was deemed more important than it should have been, despite the fact that it was impossible to tell whether or not the "rumors" were true, CLU still told his army to wait. There was a time and a place for everything, after all, and this was not the time nor the place for invasion, especially a place as seemingly insignificant as Argon City. The mere fact alone that CLU had even bothered to send one of his highest ranking soldiers out to such a small city for merely an inspection suggested that there was definitely something more going on than just routine checkups. Not here, and not now.

The Liberator himself looked out into the horizon, basking in the glory of his empire from the safety of his ship. He heard two Black Guard enter behind him, one after the other. Without even a twitch of his head, CLU addressed them.

"You have good news for me?" he asked.

One of the Guards hesitated, before he replied, "There has been progress made, Sir."

Now, in this, CLU was definitely interested. Finally deeming them worthy to receive his eye contact, he turned around to face them with an oddly serene smile on his face.

"Anything else to tell me?" CLU asked calmly.

"Dyson has been pinpointed in one particular part of the city. He's been there for a while. We checked the surveillance on the tracking device on Dyson's Disc. There is... another Program with him. One I think you should see, Sir."

CLU decided to humor them, although, deep down, he was genuinely curious about how this little "experiment" had turned out. After all, if, for some odd reason, this plot did not work... CLU had just lost himself a valuable soldier. However, if everything went according to plan, then he would have still lost a valuable soldier... but he would have gained something worth at least ten Dysons as well.

With the only sounds being their steps along the ground and the quiet ruffle of CLU's cape, the small group made their way toward the area where Dyson was unknowingly being watched by a hawk, his every move and every location being picked up and processed by the tracking device. The Black Guard who had not spoken before sat down in front of the projection, before making some adjustments to the controls. Finally, the angle of the projection was tilted toward what CLU wanted to see: a Program, donning white, in combat with Dyson.

"They call him the 'Renegade,' Sir," the other Guard explained. "There are rumors that he is Tron, back from the dead."

"I cannot confirm or deny this," CLU stated coolly. "If the... _Renegade_, as you call him... responded so enthusiastically to Dyson's challenge, I want a few teams out to Argon immediately. Make sure he doesn't get away. However, it's not as hard a task as you think. After that... long and intense fight, he'll need somewhere to... _relax_."

All good things come to those who wait.


	2. Amicus Antiquus

**Amicus Antiquus**

Dyson was dead. Tron made sure of that. He even kicked away some of the Program's cubes for good measure, in case of the greatly minute chance that Dyson could regenerate himself. The "body" of Dyson was now scattered across the fog-covered ground. From above, one could only see specks of orange here and there.

And from above, someone did see, as Beck looked on, horrified at the scene.

"Tron!" he wearily exclaimed, his handcuffs having broken as promised by his "mentor." "How could you?"

Tron, still with what would have been interpreted by the Users as bloodlust in his eyes, yelled back in reply, "I did what needed to be done!" He was about to add something else, but he instead fell silent.

Beck obviously didn't get the hint. "What about the revolu-"

Tron held up his hand to silence Beck. After a moment, he softly breathed, "Listen."

Silence. Silence, except for the whirring of distant machinery.

And then they came. Black Guard, seemingly hundreds of them at once. Tron immediately sprung into action, effectively fighting them off, but it was clear that the battle with Dyson had worn him out, at least minutely. It began to get more noticeable as the fight went on, as the Black Guard kept coming... and coming... and coming...

Beck couldn't bring himself to stand idle for much longer. Jumping off the catwalk and falling gracefully to the ground, Beck fought off groups of Black Guard at a time, hoping to somehow reach Tron so that they could both escape. He wasn't leaving without Tron.

However, when Beck became close enough to Tron, he didn't receive as warm of a welcome as he had expected.

"Tron, come on!" Beck exclaimed, taking the risk of reaching his hand out toward his mentor.

However, Tron didn't accept. "I don't need your help!" he exclaimed, partially shifting his focus to fighting Beck off as well. The swarm of Black Guard continued to close in as Beck derezzed Guard after Guard, also partially shifting his attention to avoiding Tron's attacks. During practice, he would have attacked Tron simply because Tron had told him to do so. However, he couldn't attack Tron. Not here, not now, and especially not with the Guard coming for them.

No, not them. Beck had put two and two together a while ago. It was Tron they wanted. Beck was only in the way. Perhaps that was another reason why the Renegade existed; perhaps Beck not only had to protect the innocent Programs of Argon, but he also had to protect Tron himself.

Considering the amount of times Tron had to come out and help him, perhaps Beck hadn't been doing the best job of the latter.

Especially now, as the Guard had taken advantage of Tron's shifted attention. Now that the real Tron had been discovered, there was no need for "the Renegade," at least, not yet. For now, Beck was shoved out of the way, tossed uselessly to the side like a faulty Light Cycle baton. Tron, on the other hand, was grabbed in his weakened state and forced to inhale a tranquilizer gas, one that would make him fully unconscious long enough for them to get back to CLU for further orders. Beck continued to fight to attempt to save Tron, but the captors took advantage of the growing swarm of Black Guard and slipped away with Tron's limp body. By the time the coast was clear, Tron was gone.

Beck growled; this wasn't over yet. No matter how stubborn Tron was, Beck wanted to make it clear that he was stubborn, too. Despite all of the disagreements they had had and all the times when Beck had faltered trying to lead his "double life," Beck had a great amount of respect for Tron, and him in CLU's possession was the last thing Beck wanted to see, no matter how much Tron reprimanded him or was too harsh. Even if Tron didn't return the favor, Beck still considered Tron his friend, and always made sure to treat him like so.

Even if Zed, Mara, and everyone else at the Garage were _way _cooler than old Tron.

Beck looked around for a long time, hoping to find at least some hints of where the Guard went with Tron. Finally, kicking away some remnants of Guard in frustration, Beck started toward the Base, not knowing where else to go.

* * *

"You thought you could hide forever, didn't you?"

Tron woke up to a familiar voice, one he never wanted to hear again.

"Shame," the blurry figure in front of him, gold circuitry shining bright, stated smugly. "You had such a good plan, too. Let your scapegoat run around and do all the work for you, while you hide away like a coward living off the bare minimum and barely making it through each microcycle alive. What happened to you, Tron?"

Tron attempted to feel his way around, but he was frozen in an upright position, having to look out at his "spectator" from behind a wall of some kind...

"You used to be so brave, so bold... perhaps half my work is done already. Maybe I've broken you more than I thought I have. I amaze myself sometimes."

"CLU," Tron whispered, "you won't be able to keep the Grid this way, not for much longer, if I have anything to do with it."

CLU smirked, although Tron could barely see his face from behind the blurry wall. The Liberator then chuckled and approached the wall that separated Tron from derezzing him there and then. Playfully, CLU tapped on the glass with the tips of his fingers.

"If you _still _have anything to do with it," CLU casually corrected.

"While I'm still alive, then," Tron burst, suddenly finding himself able to lunge toward the glass and successfully spook CLU into removing his hand. After calming himself, CLU chuckled, regained his composure, and continued as if Tron had never spoken.

"You should be smart enough to know that I don't plan on keeping you around for very long," CLU added.

"You wouldn't derezz me," Tron challenged, narrowing his eyes. "We've known each other for too long. Besides, you had your opportunity."

"It was Dyson's grand idea to make you willingly surrender yourself," CLU corrected. "And look how well that's turned out, both for you... and for him. I, on the other hand, honestly would have without a second thought... if you were any other Program. Especially one... _aged _as you are." CLU started to pace back and forth in front of the wall. Tron, frozen in the default upright position once again, could only follow CLU with his eyes. "However, you speak the truth. I don't want to derezz you, but not for your flimsy reason. No, no, I want to keep you because you're much too valuable to simply throw away. That would be... to an extent, sacrilgous." CLU then pressed his hands to the wall once again, this time brave enough to ignore Tron's sudden fits of rage. "You're much too... special. And for someone as special as you are, I have something very special planned..."


	3. Franget et Fugit

**Franget et Fugit**

Far away from any trace of civilization, a lone Light Cycle zigzagged across the mountainous terrain. Beck knew the route well; he had traveled it hundreds of times, with and without Tron.

Behind his Renegade's mask, Beck was silently berating himself.

_How could I have been so stupid? _he continously thought, each thought repeating and echoing through his mind with every Energy-pulse. _And above all that, to expose him there and then..._

Beck vowed to redeem himself, at least in Tron's eyes. He was going to save Tron from whatever CLU had planned for him. It was the only way to keep the Revolution going. Admittedly, Beck had acted cocky before, but he knew he wasn't ready to begin a full-scale uprising all by himself, especially not this soon. He still needed Tron, and that was one of the many reasons that Beck respected the old Program.

Despite possessing a fraction of Tron's Disc, Beck knew almost nothing of his mentor, other than what most young Programs knew about him. Tron had been – still was – the greatest Warrior ever to step foot on the Grid, the last of the User-Believers, unrivaled in the Games back when they were still used for fun, a virtuous leader who was an inspiration to all... but Beck had heard, from some Programs who claimed to have known Tron well, that he did not belong to the Grid, that he was a stranger from a System far away. There were even some rumors that Flynn was not his User, that his Creator was different from everyone else's. Whether these rumors were true or not, what else was Tron hiding? Putting together what he did know, Beck concluded that if Tron were to tell it, he would have had a very interesting story to tell.

Now, to make sure he would be alive to tell it.

Beck narrowed his eyes as the base's entrance came into sight. Immediately after derezzing his Light Cycle, Beck ran as fast as he could into the base, toward one of various control panels set up all around the vast chamber. Where were Tron's tracking devices when he needed them? Beck opened and closed many projection windows on many of the panels, but it seemed as though the Renegade had been too busy doing "field work" to learn the ins and outs of working behind the scenes.

Beck tapped a button, but instead of being or not being what he wanted to see on the projection, something completely unexpected happened. Beck heard a noise and turned around, only to see a part of the floor open up to reveal a passageway Beck had never seen before in all his time as Tron's apprentice.

"A secret room," Beck muttered in astonishment, before correcting himself, "Tron's secret room." Should he go down to explore? There might be some clues, he figured, but there was a similar chance it might all be a waste of time, and every nanocycle he spent stalling, Tron would become closer and closer to... Beck didn't even want to imagine. However, curiosity won over; temporarily abandoning his search, Beck approached the opening before descending into a part of the base where no one other than Tron had set foot.

The room below was like Able's office, only much bigger, filled with various artifacts that not even Beck had ever seen before. What looked like an old Disc was mounted on the wall. Two or three Bits floated contently in their protective domes. Old-fashioned Light Cycle batons filled the shelves, some of them rezzed on the ground in front of him. Beck almost kicked over a large bottle of what looked like Unflavored Pure Energy. On display in the very center of the room was an unfamiliar gray, circuit-covered armor, distinguishable only by the infamous emblem dimly glowing on the chest. Beck took several moments to gaze in awe at the old armor, before focusing his attention on the archaic Identity Disc. He reached out to touch it, and a few fingers managed to brush against it.

_"Let's walk this time. I've been wanting to try something different."_

_"Something different? But the Solar Sailer's much faster! And when have you not wanted to pilot?"_

_"You should try piloting it sometime! Besides, sometimes I'd rather focus on the System around us... and on you."_

Beck felt oddly relaxed as he lifted his hand from the Disc. There was something odd about it, something about it that made it carry as many secrets as Tron himself had. Even after Beck had released the Disc, the spirits of Systems past still lingered for a while longer.

_"Come on, Mighty Warrior, catch me!"_

_"Users, you're so fast! I have a worthy adversary...!"_

Figuring he had seen enough of the secret room, Beck rushed back up the stairway into the base, the Bits behind him chanting, "No... No... No..." in a minor key.

* * *

According to some Sentries, Tron ws properly restrained. He appeared to be in that same trancelike state as the other to-be-rectified Programs had been, which was a good sign. With Tron – the _real _Tron – out of the way, the Grid belonged to CLU. With the real Tron, the Renegade was no longer a threat, or so they had been reassured. When all was said and done, none of them would even have to lift a finger in order to dispose of the "Renegade."

Standing a safe distance away from the Repurposing Chamber, CLU contently watched the magic unfold.

"It was a brilliant idea, Dyson," CLU stated, feeling the mood was set for a quiet, reflective apostrophe, "to work that safeguard into his coding. I wouldn't have been able to think of it myself." He took a side glance at some of the machines slowly powering up. "Now our little pet will _have _to come home, or risk the consequences."

Unbeknownst to CLU, however... unbeknownst to the deceased Dyson, or any Sentry, Black Guard, or orange-circuited Program on the Grid, or even any and every Program... unbeknownst, even, to the caged User so far away... there was a glitch in the Rectification Chamber, the one that the User Champion happened to be inside. It was through no fault of the rectifier, for this sort of malfunction could only be attributed to one thing.

_The strong will and consuming rage of its sole occupant._

* * *

Beck finally found the tracking device, and immediately imputted a search for Tron's current location, wherever on the Grid he was. Beck paled (if Program skin was capable of doing so) when he saw the distance between Argon and Tron's location: the Grid's Capital, otherwise known as Tron City.

"That's too far," Beck instinctively mumbled, before reminding himself that he wasn't supposed to lose hope. It wasn't just Beck's own life on the line, but Tron's as well. Tron's, whose life Beck was able to proudly admit was more important than his own. "But I'm going anyway."

Grabbing a portable map-screen while syncing Tron's location so than it would be easier for him to plan a quick route, Beck wasted no time in grabbing what he needed and getting out of the base.

The Grid needed Tron.

Tron needed him.

* * *

After much debate, CLU had decided to not watch the rectification of Tron, as enjoyable as that experience would have been. As much as he delighted in watching the shift in alliance his enemies made, he had a System to rule, and after all, he was going to be getting plenty of opportunities to watch his... _friend_... play. CLU began to daydream, as his programming made him capable of doing so, while he read through and made adjustments to various System reports. The Liberator, so absorbed in his thoughts and unaware of anyone's watching, was about to hum a small victorious ditty to himself (apparently, the fall of Tron had made him surprisingly and uncharacteristically giddy) when a Sentry suddenly addressed him.

"Sir."

CLU turned around to face him. "Yes?"

"Request to update Your Excellency on the rectification of Unit JA307020."

"Go on." CLU's tone and face grew more serious, losing the potential giddiness from before.

The Sentry hesitated (a bad sign) before finally replying, "An error. System overload. Cause unknown. Unit's vitals were at fever pitch, last reading before the meters exploded completely, along with the temporary glitching of the rest of the Rectifier. Not impossible to correct with specified number of utilities."

This did not sound good. "And the Unit?"

"Missing, Sir."

"He didn't derezz?" CLU tried.

"No, Sir. No remains to be found."

The Sentry quickly led CLU through the corridors of the ship. The closer they became to the Unit's Repurposing Chamber itself, the more CLU began to see traces of derezzed Sentries and Guards. This should not have fazed him, but given the circumstances, it did.

Finally, the two of them arrived at the Chamber's dock, where many Sentries were attempting to clean up the mess made by a Program who had clearly broken himself free of his bonds.


	4. Tempestas Vertexque

**Tempestas Vertexque**

Tron was on the move.

At first, Beck had thought it was a trick of his mind; not too long ago, Tron, or the dot that represented his location, had been dormant. As Beck kept switching his attention back and forth between the road in front of him and the constant updating of Tron's location, Beck noticed that the red dot was moving rapidly, sometimes within a small enclosure and sometiems from what seemed to be one side of the city to theother. However, Tron made no advancements toward rgon or away from the Grid's Capital. Anytime he seemed to be, the dot would almost always end up going in a different direction. Almost as if he was wandering aimlessly? Or just too focused on patroling the Capital to return to Argon? Or had it been something more? Beck was now even more determined to get to the bottom of this.

The only sound louder than the lone Light Cycle buzzing across the Outlands was a sudden crack of thunder, preceded by a bright flash of lightning. However, Beck was unfazed, even though the Outlands became that much more treacherous during a storm such as this.

Beck continued on, the corner of his eye consistently monitoring Tron on the readout. The dot was still moving; it hardly stopped to take a rest. Weirder still, Tron still hadn't left the City, even when he was at the very edge of the border. Beck couldn't shake the fact that something was up, but what?

Rain began to pour and pour hard, each drop its own meteor. Though the drops fell violently against the shell of the Light Cycle, Beck's thoughts were far from making minor repairs when he returned. The more pressing matter was _if_ he returned, and in how much danger Tron was right then.

If he was in danger. Or had been. What aggravated Beck the most was that he didn't _know_. For all he knew, Tron had escaped on his own in one piece and was now trying to find a good way out of the City. It was ideal, and there was a chance that Tron knew CLU enough to play his cards right; Beck hoped this was the case. However, if Beck had ever learned anything while being the Renegade, it was that most things were never that easy. Nothing ended completely happily. Not anymore.

But all the same, Beck had hope. He was aware of the worst case scenario (but he didn't want to think about it) and what that would mean for Tron. For himself. For the Revolution. Beck was aware of this and knew in his very core that Tron would not have let that happen. Tron had a strong will, not easily broken (not even, as was seen in the display with Dyson, by his own friends). There was no way in the entire System that Tron would willingly, fully, and completely succumb to... _that._

No way.

"Don't give up, Tron," Beck found himself muttering, which helped to improve his focus and even confidence. "Hang in there. Don't lose hope."

Beck had the option of taking the longer, less risky path to Tron City around the bases of the moutanins, but Beck had no time for longer or less risky. Muttering a silent prayer to the Users that May or May Not Be, Beck revved up his Light Cycle to its maximum speed and performance and took it straight up the mountains, narrowly avoiding and promptly dismissing any terrain deformities that may have been in his way. With every beat of his Energy-pulse, Beck worrried about Tron more and more, and hoped that his mentor was alright trapped in that awful City.

Beck ascended one mountain and descended it, before ascending a steeper climb. Beck didn't care what got in his way, not even the storm that constantly reminded him of its presence. The rain fell harder, blurred his vision more, before all Beck could do was go straight. The lightning illuminated the sky, but it only proved, in the thickness of the rain, that the sky was still there.

Beck rode and rode, high and low, until he found what was his steepest climb yet. He struggled to rev the motors any faster than they were already going, but yet something pulled him closer to the top of the mountain, something Beck couldn't explain.

Soemthing he couldn't comprehend.

Was this where Tron was? Beck checked his map and saw that Tron was, for some odd reason, still at the Grid's Capital. Maybe this was a hint he could use in order to get to Tron faster, or at least understand more what was going on? Beck forced himself to be optimistic...

... As he plunged, nosefirst, into a large crater deeply embedded at the very peak of the mountain.

* * *

She entered the abandoned building.

Of course, it had not been abandoned too long ago. Once the patrolling Black Guard of the area began to become slaughtered all at once, everyone else had either fled for fear of becoming involved or had been spooked by the sudden commotion and hid. This female Program was neither one of these. She had heard the rumors, and until now had yet to determine if they were true. She had caught glimpses of white, and that had been a signal to the believer: Tron lived still.

She slowly walked toward the staircase, quietly listening to the chaos from afar. She was brave; she wanted to thank her hero in person, or at least see him in the line of battle from a safe distance. It seemed as though the latter was more likely to happen.

Making sure her feet made no soind, the Program slowly ascended the staircase, step by step. Move feet up, across, down. Up, across, down. Up, across, down. Up, across, down. At the top of the stairs, she found the first myriad of cubes. Orange cubes, from orange-circuited Programs. Black Guard. Tron must have been here.

"Tron?" she called out softly, apprehensively. "Tron? Tron?"

If she listened carefully, she could hear the sounds of struggle coming from a hallway several corridors away. The sound of her footsteps, however muffled, was louder than the distant shatter of cubes. Again. And again. And again. The closer she became, the farther away the fight became. It seemed unreachable.

"Tron?" she insisted, rouding a barren corner littered with cold orange cubes. Her voice echoed in the deserted halls; she heard no response, except for a softer and slightly distorted, "Tron?"

Whoever had exterminated the Black Guard, he had chosen not to acknowledge the Program's question. She could barely hear the sounds of struggle now, but all the same it sounded like he was always around the next corner. Whenever she did round a noisy corner (for the echoes of the various corridors sometimes played tricks on her), around the bend, she would always expect someone to appear... but no one, except a pile of cubes that always grew bigger with every corner she passed.

There!

She had heard the sounds of the struggle... but when she thought she had reached their source, a wall separated her and the commotion. She pressed her ear against it, not knowing what else to do... had that been a growl or a snarl? It sounded like no sound any Program could make...

The louder the noises became, the more inclined she was to ready her Disc, to either assist Tron, should he be there... or ward off the sickening beast whose snarls refused to leave her mind. She quickened her pace, now ignoring the large scattered messes of orange cubes both along the ground and along the walls (the farther into the heart of the building she became, the more visible destruction there had been).

"Tron," the brave damsel had the courage to say louder, as she swore she saw a flash of white darting from hall to hall. There it went again. "Long live the Users. I am a friend."

The corridors now became filled with soft, strange noises that made the Program wonder what was hiding where.

Peered around another corner.

Nothing but cubes.

Another flash of white.

"I appreciate all you're doing for the Grid," she continued softly, taking off after the white-clad Program. "Especially after all this time..."

A Black Guard's scream, and the shatter of cubes. Scampering, slightly disoriented footsteps. The white-clad Program always seemed to turn another corner before she could barely catch sight of him. There was no doubt about it; that was Tron's armor. From what little she had managed to glimpse of it, a plethora of memories returned to her. Tron hadn't been seen since CLU took over. Maybe Tron had returned to get his revenge.

Finally, she managed to see him; Tron had managed to chase an unfortunate Black Guard into a dead end before mercilessly derezzing him, his shriek piercing her very coding. But she didn't dare to speak. Not with what had been revealed in front of her.

This white-clad Program indeed bore Tron's armor. But it couldn't have been him. It couldn't possibly have been him. His limbs were so bulky, seeming to ooze pure strength, that they looked about to burst out of his armor. The Energy pulses through his muscles seemed to take on protruding circuit lines of their own, flickering as that Program was now scratching at the walls hungrily and savagely, as if not knowing what else to do now that there were no more Guards.

This could not have been a Program.

There was no possible way this was a Program.

Let alone Tron.

In her surprise, she hadn't been aware of whether or not she had made any form of noise, but if she had, she immediately regretted it.

"Tron" turned around.


End file.
